


Indiscretion

by mostlyapples



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alcohol, Arson, Buttsex, Classcest, Drunk Sex, Food, Frottage, I'm so sorry, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Medical Examination, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Slash, Sleepy Cuddles, Strip Poker, cross-faction, urine fetish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 20:18:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2123319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlyapples/pseuds/mostlyapples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of selected classcest fics between a RED merc and their BLU counterpart, ranging from humorous to sad to sweet to deranged. (Mostly deranged, as obviously any cross-faction relation would get them severely punished and killed.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fromage

_[For the prompt: Spy/anyone, fancy cheeses. If anyone was going to make love for cheese, or feel love for cheese, it would be Spy...]_

* * *

 

The rest of the team assumed he had been to see his lady love that weekend. And indeed, the Spy had taken the first available flight out of the local airport to Boston, but not to visit his little cauliflower.  As much as it pained him to admit, he had left the base to indulge a far more selective taste.  Wine and women, he could eventually find out here, though perhaps not quite to his standards.  Fine cheeses, however, were near impossible to locate, of any quality other than that oily prepackaged swill the other men willingly put in their sandwiches and consumed.

He ate a sandwich once, in the middle of battle, injured and in desperate need of healing. He vowed to never put himself in the position of requiring one again.

__

* * *

 

When the Spy was certain the team had gone to bed for the night, he slipped out of his room and fled to the kitchen in shameful silence.  There, in the refrigerator, in a paper sack labeled “dead dove, don’t open” and which had been clearly opened at least twice then hastily closed back, he retrieved a small ripe wedge of Roquefort.  Tucked behind a six pack of Red Shed, he found his prized Chevrot, and squirreled away in the rarely-used vegetable bin, a piece of Manchego.  With care, he set the cheeses out on the cleanest plate he could find, admiring their colors even in the fluorescent lights.  A flick of his knife sliced each wedge into a few bite-size pieces, fanned out to best showcase their unique textures.

The Spy quietly uncorked a bottle of wine, a pricey sauvignon blanc he had been hoarding since his last trip to civilization, and filled a glass.  A handful of raisins and some soda crackers that had seen fresher days would help cleanse the palate in between nibbles of cheese.  The contents of the plate made for a rather tragic picture, nothing like the decadent displays of his own country, when he could count on a wine and cheese tasting every other week, no repeats for at least a year.  And yet, the Spy could not help smiling a little at his personal miniature banquet.

_Bon appetit._

He picked up a piece of Chevrot, that soft goat’s milk cheese, letting it warm in his fingers before placing it on his tongue.  Fresh and clean, he decided after a moment’s thoughtful chewing, with grassy and even tangy notes, like a cool spring day in the hilly countryside of Alsace.  After a sip of wine, the Spy moved onto the next cheese, the Manchego.  Brilliant, he thought in admiration, nutty, salty, its robust sunny flavor complementing the raisins perfectly; to be expected of a Spanish cheese.

At last, the Roquefort, the king of cheeses, with delicate blue-green threading through its ivory flesh as veins through skin.  The odor was pungent enough to turn off other people not appreciative of its intense quality, but the Spy breathed in each eye-searing whiff with a gourmand’s delight.  He savored the first bite of Roquefort like a mortal would with the ambrosia of the gods, almost shivering in pleasure at the tingly, sweet-smoky taste, then sighed in bittersweet regret as the Roquefort faded away to leave a ghostly trace of creamy saltiness on his tongue.

Well, he still had several more pieces to go, no need to mourn just yet.  Taking a sip of wine, the Spy promptly spat it all out when he caught a flicker of blue in the shadowed doorway.  Torn between attacking the enemy Spy who had somehow infiltrated their security and protecting his lovely Roquefort, he froze where he stood, knife in hand.

“Give me one good reason to not kill you this instant,” he growled in French, brandishing his weapon.

“I… smelled it all the way from my room, across the base, I had to come.”  The BLU Spy dissolved into view, his expression that of wonder and envy and sheepish desire.  “May I please… just stay?” he asked, soft and pleading.  “Just for a moment, _Rouge_ , then I will be gone.”

“Stay where I can see you.”

Still suspicious, the RED Spy lowered his knife slowly, watching with narrowed eyes as the BLU Spy edged towards the table, then took a seat across.  Once certain that the BLU Spy was not intending to steal his hard-won cheese, the RED Spy attempted to continue his private tasting.  But every time he took a drink of his sauvignon blanc, he glimpsed the other spy’s hungry blue gaze.  He broke, eventually, as a spy never should, but as a Frenchman would.

“Here, come a little closer, you can have some,” he said, relenting.

Clearly ecstatic, the BLU Spy scooted his chair over and reached eagerly for a piece of the goat cheese, only to have the RED Spy slap his hand.

“I bought this, not you.  If you want a taste, open your mouth.”

The BLU Spy stared at the piece of cheese quivering at the end of the butterfly knife, then at the RED Spy.  His eyes still fixed on his counterpart, he parted his lips to take the Chevrot into his mouth with a flick of his tongue and a low moan of contentment.

“I’ve missed this,” he murmured in gratitude after swallowing his morsel.  The RED Spy shrugged agreeably and broke off a piece of cracker which the BLU accepted.  Then he balanced a piece of the Manchego on his knife, watched as the other spy carefully took it off the blade using his teeth, resisted the urge to nick him, just a bit.  Letting him drink from his glass was a little trickier, but no less entertaining, to see him lick his lips of the drops that splashed onto his chin.

There was no way he was going to risk dropping the precious Roquefort off his knife and onto the filthy tiles, so he just picked up a piece and popped it into the waiting Spy’s mouth.  Who took the opportunity to close his lips around the forefinger and thumb presented and suck deeply, with every evidence of enjoyment.

“And what exactly did you miss?” the RED Spy asked, a knowing grin making its way across his face.

“All of it.”  That voice, so like his in tone if not accent, fairly thrummed in the thin sliver of air between them.  “Everything, _Rouge_.”  He leaned in forward, lips skimming over the RED Spy’s mouth, just barely brushing his skin with the tip of his tongue, until the other spy responded in kind.

The knife, the wine, the cheese, the fact that they were sworn contractual enemies, lay forgotten as the two Spies turned their attention to a different sort of sampling.

“How you must have suffered, _Bleu_ ,” the RED Spy whispered, once they parted, so reluctantly.  “Deprived of… culture, alone, companionless.”

“I could only dream, I did not dare to presume any more.  But you’ve summoned me, haven’t you?  Now I am here.”

Of course, the RED Spy thought wryly; the Roquefort was a blue cheese.

“For this pleasure you’ve given me, what do I owe you?”

“You can… start by taking your hand off my Roquefort!”

“As if you are going to eat the whole thing, you pig!” the BLU Spy retorted hotly.

“How dare you!”

The RED Spy clapped his hand over the BLU’s mouth a little harder than necessary, while the BLU Spy poked him in the ribs as if to spotlight the mild pudginess marring his formerly lean silhouette.

Out of nowhere, the door to the kitchen creaked open.  A sleepy Scout trudged in, then made a slight gagging noise from the odoriferous stench.

“Gah, what the hell is that smell, oh… it’s just you.”  Having answered his own question, the Scout poured himself a glass of water, chugged it and set the used cup in the sink, as the Spy scowled in his seat, looking absolutely furious.

“Seeya, Spy,” and the Scout shuffled back to his room, blissfully unaware of the presence of a cloaked enemy spy hiding under the table between his Spy’s legs.

As soon as they were alone once more, the RED Spy glanced down balefully.

“Your hand, _Bleu_ …” he said in a warning tone.

But the BLU Spy showed no intention of keeping his hands off his newest acquisition. Nor his mouth, for that matter.  It certainly helped that his beloved _Rouge_ had sported quite an erection already, one that matched his, so he merely wished to ease it along the best he can.  As payment.

He stroked along the stiffening length with his fingertips, back and forth, placing breathy kisses over the flushed head.  Teasing with his tongue before taking him fully in his mouth and wordlessly groaning his admiration.  At last, here was a cornucopia of tastes and scents, complex and layered as only a fellow spy could comprehend, and he eagerly swallowed more, lost in the carnal pleasure of lust.

Somewhere above, the BLU Spy could discern harsh uttered words in between pleasured gasps and stuttering moans, probably begging him to stop, or for more.  He obliged both, pausing to lave his tongue elsewhere over that hot musky skin, then going back down with ever more enthusiasm.  And when his counterpart came, he could not keep from swallowing thirstily, until that cock lay drained and flaccid between his cum-slick lips.

 

* * *

 

He got to his feet, red-faced but proud, and then to his shock, noticed a large blank space on the plate where his reward of stinky blue cheese should have been.

“Y-you ate it all!” the BLU Spy exclaimed, as the RED Spy calmly wiped the last crumbs of cheese from his mouth with a handkerchief.

“Well, you were taking a long time down there fumbling around.”

That was the last thing the RED Spy remembered before he woke from Respawn.


	2. Follow Me Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: RED Demo/BLU Demo, too drunk to care

It was bound to happen, this chance meeting under the stars, two lonely souls stumbling upon each other in the now quiet battlefield between their bases.  Drunk, craving touch, and more than that an understanding, they pass a bottle of Scrumpy between them companionably, chuckling and hiccupping and belching, obviously not worried if they will get caught by their respective companies for this dangerous fraternization.  The touches start to linger, accidentally at first, all inebriated fumbling and slurred apologies, until they turn into caresses, hands petting and stroking and groping everywhere.  Cider-flavored kisses swiftly follow, that make the RED tremble in desire, and the BLU yearn for more.  Their heated bodies press close now, and they know what they want with no need for further words.

Soon, they rock against each other, lips locked in desperate, open-mouth kisses as their groins rub together.  The RED Demo stops just long enough to clasp the other man’s shoulders, hauling him over, until his back is flush against the wall of a shed.  Braced like that, the BLU Demo does not hesitate to use it to his advantage, as his hands grasp the RED’s buttocks and squeezes them to pull their bodies even closer.  When their rutting does not quite satisfy, both men reach for the other’s belt, unbuckling and unzipping frantically, while their teeth clash and their tongues tangle.  By the time they manage to grip each other’s swollen cocks, they are panting lustfully, needy soft noises resounding in echo between them.  They pump away, jaws clenched as they work at each other’s burgeoning erections, curses and encouragement occasionally coloring the air.  But so flush with alcohol, pleasure takes time, too much time, and the matching rhythms begin to falter.  Even pressing their cocks together, slick fingers interlaced tightly all around, did nothing to relieve the pent-up urges.  Still, it feels good to slow down, to watch, to discover what arouses and excites that identical body before them.

The RED Demo then slips one hand down behind, index finger probing in between the BLU’s cheeks for a change in the proceedings.  Groaning, the BLU Demo widens his stance and pushes into that hand, savoring the additional stimulation as his stiff cock smears pre-cum all over the RED Demo’s abdomen.  It seems that is enough, exactly what is required, and the BLU suddenly jerks on his feet, head snapping back, cracking against the wood as he releases at last, and comes plentifully into the other man’s palm.

With a wide grin, the RED Demo promptly coats his cock with the BLU’s own semen, spreading the hot slippery substance up and down his still straining length.  Dazed with bliss and too much Scrumpy, the BLU Demo obliges the RED as he thrusts his cock in between his sweaty thighs with increasing fervor.  Just a few more jittery thrusts, and the RED Demo comes with a loud, low moan into the BLU Demo’s ear.  Blue pants are now splashed liberally with cum to match the red shirt, but neither man cares about the mess they’ve made of each other’s uniforms.  They sink to their knees on the dirt, still embracing, still kissing, having found a kindred soul in their impulsive love-making, and determined to cherish this sweet, stolen moment together before the war tears them apart.


	3. Outback Mountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snipercest for the prompt, "rivalry," in which I absolutely do venture into realms of fetishes I thought I would never write. Turn back now if pee is not your thing.

He was just about to hang up the phone on his parents when he felt something hit him lightly between the shoulderblades.  Cursing, he slammed the receiver onto the hook and spun around to find his attacker, who turned out to be none other than the RED team’s Sniper, currently laughing at him from the safety of his camper van.

“Get in, ya loser,” the RED Sniper called out, leaning over to open the passenger side door.

“Fuck off,” the BLU Sniper growled.  He had his own errands to run that weekend, picking up some more Mason jars, replenishing his meager groceries, there really wasn’t time to deal with his rival’s petty teasing.  Then out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed another small object speeding towards his face, thrown with expert aim, and he reached up to catch it just in time.  Once he realized what exactly he was holding, he crumpled the thing up in disgust and tossed it away.

“I’m all kitted out for a weekend in the Badlands,” the RED continued blandly.  “You’re welcome to come help me run down my stock.”

“You don’t figure they’ll be watching us?” he retorted, eyes already darting from side to side in understandable paranoia.

“Trust me, my van’s clean.  They won’t have anything to go on.”  He patted the passenger seat, grinning.  “What’re ya waiting for, an invitation?”

“Fine.  If I get in, would you shut up?”

“Yeaaaaah…” which continued for a while, and then an emphatic , “Nah.”

For some reason, that familiar refrain made him chuckle, convinced him to take up the unusual offer, and soon the two of them were on the road.  The discarded condom wrapper left by the phone booth was soon picked up by a wandering raccoon and dropped into a sewer drain where next week an escaping Spy would accidentally step on it in a failed attempt to hide from a Pyro.

 

* * *

 

Several miles outside of Teufort, they stopped at an abandoned patch of desert, eager to test each other’s sniping skills without the distraction of teamwork.  The BLU Sniper had brought his own rifle, not the over-powered beast used to slaughter other mercenaries, but the carefully tended heirloom model he had utilized in the outback at home for hunting.  Half-jokingly, half-seriously, they set each other up for more and more outrageous shots, targets too distant, too difficult for anyone other than this pair of marksmen.

While the little impromptu shooting contest yielded no clear winner, it at least yielded some jackrabbits for supper.  With their joined efforts, the two Snipers cooked up a tough but solid meal to share, the RED even bringing out some cold bottles of Red Shed beer to wash it down.  There wasn’t much in the way of conversation the entire time, but the BLU Sniper somehow never felt more at ease than in the presence of his number one opponent.  Well, it makes sense, he thought, seeing as they were both civilized and professionals, or certainly more so than any of their own teammates.

“You regretting this yet?” the RED asked softly.

He could have been referring to this particular outing, their jobs at RED and BLU industries, or the whole lifestyle they had chosen against the will of their parents, but his answer would be the same.  “Nah.”

In silence, they watched the stars coming out in dazzling array above them, so different from the night skies of their youth.  The nostalgia, the sense of isolation, overwhelmed him and made his heart clench painfully.  He did not expect the arm that encircled his shoulders, but welcomed the contact as a small reminder of home.

 

* * *

 

The RED Sniper insisted he use his bunk in that night while he slept in the driver’s seat, though the BLU protested. 

“Look, mate, we’re leaving at sun-up,” the RED declared, “so I suggest you stop dithering and get to sleep.”

And that was that.

The driver’s seat wasn’t too bad, if one leaned the seat back far enough, but it was a lot lonelier than he had expected.  The RED Sniper dozed in and out of sleep, tossing and turning in his cramped resting spot before giving up and rolling down the window to get some fresh air.

 “Now that’s interesting,” he muttered to himself, looking out the rearview mirror.  The BLU Sniper had stepped out of the van, his expression that of recognizable distress.    After a quick glance around, as if there could be anyone else within miles of their campsite, he finally unfastened his jeans and fished out his cock.  Rubbing it absentmindedly, the BLU Sniper then let his eyes fall closed as he relaxed with a soft sigh and began pissing on the dirt.  With such a perfect vantage point, the RED Sniper could not help but stare, greedily watching the stream of hot urine leaving that fantastic organ that was nearly as big as his own.  He licked his dry lips, exceedingly glad for the amount of alcohol his counterpart had consumed in order to produce such a satisfying amount of piss.  A pity he couldn’t save some of that in his jars, but he supposed an opponent’s piss, however splendid, would be useless for him on the battlefield. 

His own cock began twitching in sympathy, and he rubbed desperately at his crotch while trying to keep one eye on the BLU.  Understandably, that made things worse.  By this point, his wayward brain was running through so many reprehensibly arousing scenarios that his entire body heated up white hot, and he groaned quietly in frustration.  In the few seconds that he glanced away, in the time it took for him to unbutton his pants and yank his zipper down, his counterpart had noticed something was up.  The RED Sniper had just gotten his hand about his half-hard cock when a shadow fell over him, and he found himself looking aghast into the shocked gaze of the BLU Sniper.

Words managed to fail both of them for at least a minute.

Then the BLU Sniper wrenched the driver’s side door open, pulling the RED out.  His face was scarlet, awash with shame and disgust, though he said nothing as he slammed his host against the side of the truck.  Confused, the RED Sniper struggled for a moment, but suddenly stopped once he felt the other man’s hand on his cock, which was still hanging out of his jeans.  Now all he could see was the back of the BLU’s head as he bent over, began stroking his length with rough, callused fingers.  He winced at the sensation, moaning, hips bucking forward helplessly, but the BLU kept fondling him until the RED finally caved in and began urinating in relief.  Still, the man did not remove his fingers, just continued stroking and squeezing, until the last few drops of piss splashed steaming onto the ground.

“You really did like that, didn’t you.”

Then he looked up, his expression completely changed into something wild and utterly implacable.  He swooped forward, mouth partly open, just long enough for the RED Sniper to taste the drops of sweat across his upper lip, to smell the hint of gunpowder and the tang of ammonia that marked him, to feel the beginnings of an erection through hastily zipped up jeans.

“Not here,” he hissed, and he was hauling the BLU into the camper, the two of them nearly tripping over their pants falling down.   It was a feat, undressing while their lanky limbs interlocked in the tiny space, but they made it to the bunk naked, kissing hungrily all the while.

* * *

 

He should have done this earlier, he thought in a haze of delirious lust, while the BLU swiftly pumped him into full hardness.  With growls and nips, half-wrestling, half-embracing, they brought each other off simultaneously, spilling all over their stomachs and chests as they howled their pleasure unleashed. 

Part of him wanted to get a towel to clean themselves off, but the rest of him felt absolutely content lying in the BLU’s arms, just stewing in sweat and semen and the delicious stench of piss.  The BLU seemed to feel the same, if one were to judge by the huge sleepy grin on his face. 

“Oi, what are you looking at?” he murmured, kissing the other Sniper on the nose.

Snorting, the BLU Sniper answered, “At the big ugly bastard who didn’t even use up his stock like he said.”

The RED Sniper laughed.  “I forgot.”  He glanced at the mason jar stuffed full of condoms and packets of petroleum jelly and said, “Give me a mo, we’ll take care of it.”

The camper van rocked on its wheels the rest of the night and into the morning.  The BLU Sniper woke up shivering for some reason, then realized he had been left sprawled over a plastic tub of melting ice, a neatly stitched up line carving up the left side of his back, and one oversized Jarate-pill-enhanced kidney short.


	4. Sleepyhead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> now for a change, nearly safe for work, minimal fetish cuddling for the Pyros. You're welcome.

That night, the BLU and RED Pyros set up a lovely little fort made of pillows and couch cushions in the courtyard that separated the two bases.  Part of the structure was covered with a woolen blanket to serve as a roof, but the majority of their fort was open to the sky, perfect for stargazing.  Over a dozen stuffed dolls took up residency in the fort; teddy bears, unicorns, action figures, voodoo dolls, plush animals of every type imaginable, ready for cuddles except for perhaps the voodoo doll.

The Pyros themselves were occupied with burning pieces of Scout’s nudie magazines in the miniature bonfire they had built a safe distance away from the extremely flammable fort, rolling each glossy page tightly and feeding it reverently into the flames.  But eventually, they had gone through both team’s entire current stock of pornography, and there remained nothing left to burn.  With happy soft snuffles and chuckles, shy hugs and gentle caresses, the RED and BLU Pyros lingered together in the fire’s dying glow, basking in the company of a fellow enthusiast of arson.  And when the flames turned into ashy cinders, they sighed in the acknowledgement that all fires, but the fires of hell, must one day burn out.

Leading the BLU Pyro by the hand, the RED Pyro maneuvered them both into the pillow fort, so they lay curled up next to each other amidst the cushions and pillows and stuffed animals.  They may have talked in their muffled secret language, about the magical things that only they could see and hear, who knows.  As the time passed in this innocent companionship, they eventually quieted and stilled, certainly grown sleepy.  They may have even dozed off for a moment, but suddenly the BLU Pyro startled awake, sitting up and casting about in the starlit darkness.  Recognizing where it was, it made a fond little sound and dredged up a blanket to cover both itself and the other Pyro.  The RED Pyro shifted just enough to better embrace its counterpart, and the two nuzzled each other as best as two creatures wearing gasmasks could, their childlike kisses separated by leather and latex and metal, before finally drifting off together to a dream world of fantastic magic.


	5. Corpus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: Medic/Medic, anatomy. Surprisingly not as gross as you expect, but still gross, this is Medic after all. To be honest, this is the last of the good fics, I hope you cackle as much as I did while writing this.

The only way to actually purchase the assorted creature organs he needed was to buy them in bulk from a taxidermy service not affiliated with Mann, Co in anyway except that Mr. Saxton Hale was involved in the creatures’ demise somehow.  As even his own brilliant mind could not come up with ways to use all eighteen monstrous hearts before they got manky, he decided to share half with his counterpart on the BLU team, in the spirit of cooperative academic progress.  (Of course, he made sure to keep the best specimens for his personal experiments.  They were fighting a war, after all.)

The BLU Medic was absolutely delighted to take half, as he had been ready to test his latest research, and wondered where to procure nine hearts culled from the fiercest life forms that nature had to offer without too many questions asked.  So the deal was struck over pints of good German beer, promises and money stealthily exchanged, and the two doctors waited eagerly for their shipment to arrive on next week’s supply train.

* * *

 

Later that evening, after all the organs had arrived and were accounted for, the RED Medic was interrupted in his nightly work by a loud and vehement pounding at the door to his lab.  Sighing, he wiped his hands on a towel and opened the door, stepping back in alarm as the BLU Medic shoved something large and wet and bloody in his face.

“You think you can get away with tricking me?!” the BLU Medic exclaimed.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”  He stepped to the side to let the other medic storm into his work room.  “And how did you get in the base without setting off the alarm?”

“Never mind that.  I found this in the crate of specimens you sent over, but it isn’t even a heart!  You promised me hearts!”

“Calm down, there is no need to get so excited.”  The RED Medic stared at the oozing mass of pulpy tissue that had been laid out on a large steel tray.  “Well, this is because it is a monster heart.  A Yeti one, I think.”

“Wrong!  This is clearly a uterus, of a baboon.”

“You mean that over there is not the aorta?”

“…That’s a Fallopian tube.”

“Interesting,” the RED Medic murmured, rubbing his chin.

“What do you mean interesting?” the BLU Medic demanded.  “Do you know anything about hearts?  Or uteruses for that matter?”

“Of course I do!  How dare you call my medical experience into question!”

The BLU Medic snorted.  “As a matter of fact, I would like to examine your credentials myself.”

“Certainly.  My license is right over here.”  

He made the mistake of walking past his RED counterpart to look at the framed document, and was promptly knocked out by a blow to the back of his head.  Looking guiltily at his doves and the broken marble bust in his hands, the RED Medic muttered, “He walked into an enemy base, he insulted me, he should have known what he was getting into.”

 

* * *

 

With a groan, the BLU Medic opened his eyes and blinked warily at the RED Medic standing to the side of the operating table he lay upon.

“What do you think you are doing?” he asked, sitting up and noticing his vest and tie had been removed, along with several shirt buttons.

“Sorry, I had to take measures to protect the interests of the team,” the RED Medic answered.  “But I will go ahead and demonstrate my knowledge to you practically, and put your concerns to rest.  If you are somehow not convinced, then I will take the uteruses or whatever they are back, and let you leave this base in peace.”

“I notice you did not say unharmed.” Or otherwise unviolated.

“Very good.”  The enthusiastic smile on his face looked much less benevolent now. “Medicine is never without bitterness, as you should know.  Shall we begin?”

One hand gently cupped the back of the BLU Medic’s head.  “Oh, that will leave a bump, those contusions on the occipital region.”

The RED Medic leaned closer, tilting the other doctor’s chin upwards as he peered into his eyes.  “But no damage to the optic nerves or the zygomatic ridge that I can see.  You will heal just fine, mein bruder.”  His hand snaked down, two fingers pressed against the BLU Medic’s throat, under the jawbone.  “The carotid pulse here tells me your heart rate is a little fast.  We should verify that, hm?”

Now he was separating the white shirt slowly, examining his patient with zealous intensity.  The BLU Medic was not immune to such a look, knew what it signified, and he shifted nervously on the table’s surface as the RED Medic brushed bare palms over his pectorals.

“That is not anywhere near my heart,” he said, very calmly, considering how the other man was sliding one thumb back and forth over his right nipple in a deliberate manner.

“Then… what about here?” the RED Medic asked, as he began doing the same thing to his left pectoral.

“Closer,” the BLU Medic replied, resisting the urge to bite at his lower lip.  A very bizarre physical examination, in his professional opinion, but not… unpleasant. Quite the opposite.

“Let me listen for a moment.”  The RED Medic pressed his ear to the BLU Medic’s chest to detect the heart.

“Well?”

“Your heartrate is getting even faster!  Now that is intriguing.  Are you feeling faint? No?  Well, I should check one more place, just to be sure.  Take off your shirt, please.”

He did what he was told, smiled to see the other doctor industriously checking his brachial artery, on the inside of his elbow, shaking his head and claiming it was hard to tell.

“Where else, then, doctor?”

“I have better luck with the dorsalis pedis artery.  But you will have to remove your shoes and socks.  Ah, good, good.”

“Still having trouble?” the BLU Medic observed archly when the RED Medic could not provide a secure number.

“Perhaps the popliteal?” the RED Medic suggested, with a hopeful smile.  “These trousers will have to go, of course, to get an accurate reading.  Here, let me assist you.”

“Why thank you.”  He was now clad only in his boxers, sitting on the edge of the table, watching in amusement as his counterpart gently prodded around the back of his knee, his breath hot against the fly of his suddenly constricting undergarments.  “There is… one more area you could try.”

“Of course.  The femoral.  You can’t go wrong with that.”

They were barely able to keep from chuckling now, in full knowledge of what was about to transpire upon the innocent operating table.  With imperceptibly shaking hands, the RED Medic divested himself of his shirt, unbuckling his belt while the BLU Medic slid out of his last remaining garment.  Then he placed his hands over the BLU Medic’s spread thighs, feeling for the large artery there, though his attention was understandably elsewhere.

“Doctor, will I be all right? Doctor?”

“What?  Oh, _ja_ , of course.  I have identified the cause of your tachycardia and mild pyrexia and generalized erythema, yes.”  Surprisingly tender compared to his usual hack and slash style with his own team members, he teased and fondled the BLU Medic, working him into a full-on erection, and all the while, his patient groaned and writhed in pleasure.

“By your consent, shall I commence treatment?”

“Yes!  _Mein gott_ , yes.”

There was medical grade lubricant in abundance, and he made sure to use a full tube of it, liberally for both his and his patient’s comfort.  When he could not hold himself back any longer, he plunged ahead, groaning in bliss at the delightful sensation of the BLU Medic’s tightness around his cock.

He may not be in possession a license to practice medicine any longer, he could even be labeled a sadist interested only in obtaining results no matter what, but he still recalled the importance of taking care of the patient.  It was difficult work, locating just the right angle and rhythm, but he flushed with pride once he hit that sweet spot, seeing his rival come apart in ecstasy with each firm thrust against his prostate.  They came at the same time, of course, being who they were, and could only collapse against the table, sweaty and exhausted and utterly strung out from their mutual release.

Neither Medic spoke for some time, catching their breaths, wiping themselves off, meticulously cleaning the cum off their glasses.

“All right, it seems you know your way about a body,” the BLU Medic finally admitted.  “A man’s body, anyway.  But that is still a baboon uterus, and I still need my hearts.”

“Perhaps we can strike another deal?” the RED Medic offered with a waggle of his eyebrows.  “I won’t even hit you, if you don’t want me to.”

“I’ll think about it…”

“It’s a date!”

 


	6. Joker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heavycest, for the prompt: any/any, playing Strip Poker. Because... you know, Heavy plays poker. I included a dash of Spy/Spy because as you can tell, he's my favorite character to include. This isn't the best, as I am terrible at writing both Russians and people playing poker.

 

With a disdainful snort, the Spy tossed his losing hand onto the table while the Heavies revealed their cards.  The BLU Heavy won this round with a full house against the RED’s one pair, and so the Spy’s remaining stack of chips as well as a portion of the RED Heavy’s were moved to his growing pile.

“Gentlemen,” the RED Spy muttered bitterly, not taking his loss with much grace.  He stood up and peeled off his underwear, and then standing nude but for his mask and gloves, he glared at the fully clothed Heavies.  “I bid you two good night and good luck.”

Collecting various pieces of suit shed throughout the night, the RED Spy went to join an also-naked BLU Spy, who had been waiting for him, having bowed out three hands before.  They hissed at each other in French, obviously furious at having their reputations as suave martini-drinking masters of poker brutally dismantled by their Russian teammates.  But not too angry, one might notice, by how close they walked together, hips touching, the comforting way the BLU lightly placed his hand at the RED’S waist, before the two activated their invisibility cloaks and snuck off to do whatever it is naked spies do.

Indeed, the RED Heavy noticed this, despite his best intentions to ignore the Spies, and the scene disturbed something that had long lain dormant deep in his gut.  He exhaled loudly and caught the BLU Heavy’s eye for a brief, heated moment.  But the BLU Heavy only shook his head, pointing to the deck.

“You deal.”

* * *

 

Now that there was no distracted Spy to make poor decisions and be guaranteed to lose an article of clothing in each round, each of the remaining mercenaries had to alter his strategy.  There was the nature of the draw to consider, the mathematical probability of a winning hand left in the cards, and most importantly, whether or not to call the bluff of one’s identical counterpart.  It seemed unlikely for either to win, as they faced each other in the showdown, searching intently for any weakness in the stern mirror reflection of their expressions, and yet the cards did not lie.  Grinning hugely, the RED Heavy retrieved the pile of chips tossed in the center of the table, and added, “Now you strip.”

“Is not part of the game!” the BLU Heavy protested.

“What?  Is all of BLU team big babies like you?” he jeered, and the BLU Heavy scowled and grudgingly removed his vest.

Of course, the BLU Heavy won the next round, though the pot was significantly smaller.  Still, the enjoyment he got from watching the RED Heavy take off his shirt more than made up for that difference.  So the poker game went, back and forth between the two; straight flush, two pairs, four of a kind, one pair, full house.  The floor around their chairs accumulated undershirts and boots and socks and trousers and gloves.  Until finally the two men were eyeing each other wearing only underpants.

Neither one folded, they couldn’t, not with their dignity at stake, and after the bets were called, they laid their cards out on the table apprehensively.  The BLU’s hand, queen of clubs, jack of spades, ten of spades, nine of hearts, eight of hearts.  The RED’s hand, ace of hearts, king of hearts, queen of hearts, jack of hearts, ten of hearts.

“Is stupid game, this poker!” the BLU Heavy grumbled, nostrils flaring with frustration, while the RED Heavy roared with triumphant laughter.  He banged his fist on the table, forgetting its fragility, and the entire thing caved in on one side, scattering cards and chips everywhere.

“Keep those on if you want,” the RED Heavy said in Russian, still beaming.  The BLU Heavy glanced away sullenly, until he saw out of the corner of his eye the RED Heavy slipping out of his last article of clothing and dropping it on the floor.  His eyes widened, and he could feel crimson blotting his neck and ears and cheeks, as he failed to tear his gaze away.

“Much better, you agree?”

“Hmph.”  But he had already stared too long, and certain lower regions of his body were responding in kind.

“You can help me pick this mess up,” the RED Heavy suggested.  Not receiving any response from his rival, he shrugged and began scooping up chips and cards carefully in his massive hands.  Before long, the BLU Heavy joined him, understandably grumbling and insinuating that the RED Heavy must have cheated and got an extra ace from the RED Spy somehow.  However, his not-so-accidental bumps and brushes were not as antagonistic, and encouraged, the RED sought to pursue this opening by mashing their mouths together for an enthusiastic kiss.

“I think we both win,” the BLU Heavy rumbled teasingly, after they parted lips at last.  His counterpart shoved him to the floor, joyfully stripping him of his boxers.  With increasingly loud moans and vigorous motions, they rocked against each other, cocks hard, rubbing together within their sturdy grips, as each one sought release of pent-up violence and energy and desires, kept at bay for hours during their poker game.

* * *

 

None of the cards and chips ever made it back to their original holding cases, soiled with sweat and other bodily fluids, having been peeled off where they were stuck to vast expanses of Russian territory not usually seen by the light of day.  That ended up being the perfect excuse to purchase a new set for future poker games, though the Heavies were looking forward to changing things up with an equally titillating night of chess, or boxing, or both.


	7. Not So Fast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scoutcest, for the tf2 promptfest, a twofer: 1. I’m a lonelier version of you and 2. he gets off on being able to watch himself cum. Nasty little shits. Some talk of Miss Pauling as well.
> 
> I'm sorry, these are getting worse and worse, not gonna lie, I have no idea what to do for soldiercest or engicest, as they seem to be the least open-minded of the whole lot.

By the sun’s path through the desert sky, they’d been playing ball for well over an hour now.  Just the two of them, the RED and BLU  Scouts, tossing and catching and batting, racing each other through the scrubby wasteland outside of their bases.  Of course, their version of playing ball involved leaping over ravines and bouncing off shoulder-high boulders, cleats tearing up the ground into dusty clods as they dove for the baseball that soared impossibly high, unnaturally fast through the air.  Neither one missed, despite their reckless speed. They were the best at what they did, after all; their respective corporations would not settle for less.

Eventually though, they did run into each other, both of them too intent on reaching for a surefire homerun the RED Scout batted into the air that they tripped over each other and landed in a heap of snarling bodies on top of the ball.  Pulling himself free, the BLU Scout scowled at his counterpart, blaming him for the run-in.

“Hey, if it was me, I’da caught it by now!” the RED Scout shot back, scrambling to his feet.

“Shut yer trap, RED, yer embarrassing everyone!”

As if suddenly remembering they might not be alone out here, they glanced around hurriedly, but the shimmer of a Spy’s cloak or the glint of a Sniper’s rifle had not been spotted by their keen eyes in over forty-five minutes.  Whoever had been stalking them must have finally given up out of boredom.

“Ya think we’re safe now?”

“Don’t worry about it.  See, not even a bird in the sky.”

“Yeah, ‘cause we batted them all down already.”  The BLU Scout took off his hat and rubbed at the back of his head nervously.  “So… whadya want to talk about?  Spit it out already, before someone notices we’ve been gone too long or something.”

Normally, the RED Scout would oblige, at great length, but now that he finally got his rival this far out, alone, free from detection from their overseers, he found it difficult to put his scrambled thoughts into words.  “Umm, well… look, I know we could get into big trouble for sharing this info, but I just gotta know something.  And you’re the only one who can tell me the truth.”

“Is that so?”  Still suspicious, the BLU Scout pressed, “What’s in it for me?  Why should I tell you whatever you wanna know?”

“Hey buddy, you know I’m not the Spy! Could a Spy hit a fastball like that?” No, neither Spy could; they had confirmed this, although granted that was because they were aiming at the back of his head.  “And it maybe concerns you, too.”

“Is it about Miss P?”

“What?!” the RED Scout spluttered, in as much surprise as dismay.  “H-how’d ya guess?”

“I was gonna ask you.”

“Oh.  Okay.”  He shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal.  “So, she never said yes to y’know, going out with ya?” he muttered, trying to seem casual despite his antsiness.

“Nah. Though she never said no, either.”  The BLU Scout gave him a crooked smile, his expression halfway between embarrassment and challenging.

“Then I still have a chance with her, right?”

“Yeah, in your dreams.”

Laughing, but not in an entirely mean way, the RED Scout punched his counterpart in the shoulder.  “Whatever.  All right, we’ll both keep dreaming.”

 “If you want, fine.  Me, I’m gonna do something about it.”

“When?”

“The next time she stops by our base, duh.”

“So you mean, never?”  He cackled at his own wit, in absolute meanness this time, and the BLU Scout tackled him to the ground in a flurry of jealous rage.  There was no holding back this time, kicks and punches flying, insults zipping back and forth between them.

“Ya just keep rubbing it in, don’t ya?!” the BLU Scout growled sulkily, trying to shove the RED Scout off and failing.  “Ugh get off, man.”

“No, you.”

“Stop playing around, RED, I mean it!”  It was way too hot in the Badlands to be this close to each other, but the moment he reached for the RED’s shoulders to push him away, the other Scout reached down his pants and squeezed.  “What the f-?!”

“Seriously, you need to get off.”  His hand was immediately slapped away by a furious BLU Scout, yet he had no doubts about it.  That was definitely some sexual frustration grinding up against his hip there. 

“Jesus Christ, you don’t just grope a brother like that!”  Scrambling to a sitting position, he brought his knees up slightly in an effort to hide an erection he didn’t even know he was sporting, and groaned.  Why this, and why now?

“It’s cool, you were um, probably just thinking of Miss P, so I’ll uhh, look away now,” the RED Scout babbled while not staring anywhere but between the BLU Scout’s legs.  “Yeah, looking away, right.”  With an incredible effort, he glanced off to the side, cheeks flushed more than they had any right to.

Well, it wasn’t as if the BLU Scout was planning to walk back to base in this state.  After shooting his rival one last withering glare, he scuttled off behind a small sandstone boulder to take care of little Scout.  Palming himself through his pants, slipping out of his boxers just enough to avoid getting sand in any unwanted areas, pumping at his cock, all while trying desperately to think of Miss Pauling or the pin-up girl on their Heavy’s calendar or hell, any remotely attractive woman he had seen in town, and drawing up blank after blank instead.

Now that he realized he had a hard-on, now that he had every reason to try to get rid of it, he couldn’t.  That legendary speed suddenly refused to manifest, and he was left with an aching cock in his fist that would not go away no matter how he handled it.

“Your dick’s gonna fall off the rate you’re going,” the RED Scout said, peering over the boulder, heedless of his earlier attempt to give the BLU some privacy. 

“Thanks, that’s what I needed to hear.  Go away.”

“No way man, can’t leave a fella out here, all helpless and alone.  C’mon, let me help.”  He took off his tee-shirt and set it on the ground beside the BLU Scout.  “Go on, get comfortable.”

“What the hell…”  But the RED Scout was already there, swiftly dipping him down with unexpected grace onto the sweaty fabric.   He could only stare confusedly at the other mercenary as he stripped off his bandages and began caressing his exposed abdomen.

“Relax a little, jeez.”  The tone of his voice sounded light, but the BLU Scout saw, how the thirst in his eyes was of an otherworldly intensity.  “D’ya wanna come or not?”

“It’s kinda hard when another guy is petting my junk.”

“Close your eyes if it bothers you.”

Taking a deep breath, the BLU Scout shut his eyes tightly, trying to imagine some other set of hands, more delicate and feminine, pulling his shirt further out of the way, grazing over his ribs and pecs, before following up with surprisingly soft full lips.  He moaned aloud when a hot tongue lapped against his nipples with long and lazy strokes, the way he never knew he wanted, and groaned again when that mouth withdrew.  Somewhere above, he could hear a low running commentary, obviously the RED Scout, but sweet and sexy enough to continue the charade.

“So close, babe, just a little more.  God, look at you, you’re amazing, so fucking hot and hard and huge, I want it, I want all of ya, so fucking much.  C’mon, babe, c’mon, come for me.”

Hips straining, cock so full and ready to go, the BLU Scout finally did, splattering all over his hands and belly.  Panting, covered with sweat and cum, he opened his eyes and grinned up at the RED Scout.  Only to discover that the RED Scout had just finished coming on him as well.

“What, it was hot.”

“You weren’t even talking to me at all, were you.”


End file.
